Formerly
by Cross-Flame
Summary: After a pained accident, he now knows he is no longer Tepig Pokabu. He isn't Chespin Harimaron either. But, truly, he is no one, and all Oshawott Mijumaru remembers is that he is unable to save him from that thought, and he remembers that he was too late. -A Submit Your OC between Fujisaki Chihiro.


_(Watching "Flaming Moe" too many times gave me a mental breakdown along with a case of Writer's Block, so sorry for no stories for the long run. (It felt like a long run at least.))_

_Fujisaki Chihiro requested an SYOC (Submit Your OC) for our Pokemon OC's, and so here is what I've made. This is technically a prologue to a future story that I (hope) will publish. In the meantime, here is my one-shot, so enjoy._

_I don't own Pokemon._

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><p><strong>-Formerly-<strong>

_-By Volt Tackle-_

_Fear_ is not a word.

_Fear_ is the murderer that lurks day and night, as shadows dashing stealthily and striking its prey. _Fear_ is the pyroar prides that viciously gnaw on what strength you actually have. It is the alien that abducts the human of us all.

Being a victim of _Fear_ even darkens Tepig Pokabu's day even more.

Maybe it's because he is no longer Tepig Pokabu.

Hooves click on the ground, often splashing puddles with much awareness of a very ignorant owner. Rain showers the stretch of clay and rocks, gradual cracks and landslides of boulders often heard at random locations.

_Thonk!_

A large blow impacts the tree, like the aftermath of a violent duel's effect. Sounds like it, at least, since it's only a piglet's fierce and ignorant skull-bashing. The piglet is emotionless, as if the pain doesn't ache.

Truly, it doesn't. _Fear_ has taken too much of his emotions.

He looks up slowly, oval eyes half-open from depression. A frown creases underneath his snout, as it snorts and squeaks like he should. Drizzles of rain spray itself on him in an attempt to destroy his immune system, but to no avail. A spring-like tail droops towards the soaked ground, red orb adorning it a lifeless crimson. A child's voice he speaks.

"I don't care."

The reply is quiet, but insane, with the logic of talking to rain...not even logic. He doesn't care, once again. This only empowers the rain even more.

"Weather speaks no words to me, Kyogre." He says rudely, not at all fitting his usual polite-conscious attitude. "Don't tell me that this crap was wrong of _me_, tell that shit to Arceus and shove it to his mouth." He mocks the skies harshly, as he firmly plants himself on the ground.

The rain lightens, as if to hear his next "praises".

"Tell that destruction pokemon, that idiot quetzal, it's mostly his fault." He says with much hatred he deftly contained. "That...

"..that..."

Thunder crashes down, as if to laugh at his ruined calm composure.

"Never mind." His mouth quivers, knowing of this. "Just tell him that."

The piglet glares up above as if he sees venom he'd not like to taste. He denies how awful the situation is, like it is a mere fly not needed to be bothered by.

He knows, how real, is the truth.

"Ruining others' lives wasn't part of the deal, Yveltal. Bellow at him about that too. But both of you – you're worse than Darkrai. That's my final thought." Rain trickles coldly across his spine upon the insult of the same temperature. He knows he's lying, but he doesn't care.

"And for Victini..." His voice grows solemn, but the words are forced out of his mouth.

The clouds are grey, but the rain ominously disappears.

"...I can't forgive you for that."

He eyes the road of gravel now, continuing on what seems to be a drunk's quest to go home. His hooves clap once more as he leaves in a rejected state, rain pouring down once again, resuming its activity.

He lazily looks at the tree which holds either dried-up or too-soaked green and red oran berries. He eyes the patch of excess land that makes a cliff. His eyes slightly widen, as he treks toward it. A weak smile uplifts the uneasy frown he wore for ages.

"I know what you're going to do. Please, stop, it's not your fault."

He ignores the pleas of a sea otter, whose scalchop lands and clings quickly on the trunk of the tree. The fire pig still proceeds forward, as pebbles from the cliff begin to crumble. He smirks at this, as if to delight with the danger he independently places himself in.

_"Tepig Pokabu."_

He stops for a second, the two words already stabbing him. That definitely isn't him. He no longer is. His panic he contained inside, but the mocking smile remains.

"What makes you think I'm..._that fool?_" He finally speaks in hoarse squeaks that manages to intimidate his type-advantageous friend. He chuckles bitterly. "Pikachu Pisumeka's dead because of him." He looks back, teeth baring at him like the snarky Zorua's illusion. "He lost Victini too, right?"

The otter is silent, leaving him to continue.

"So he might as well become another 'mon. Isn't that right, Mijumaru? Isn't that right, calling you by your sir name like all you mean is _crap_ to me?"

The otter taps his flipper foot forward, anger seeping through him, but determination in the right place.

"I'm no longer Froakie Keromatsu, I'm Oshawott Mijumaru. So call me by Mijumaru all you want." He counters, shouts eclipsing thunders and the loud pit-pats of the rain. "Snivy Tsutarja is Snivy Tsutarja, no longer Fennekin Fokko. You never 'put us off.'" The former Tepig raises a brow, or at least an invisible one at the so-called Oshawott's point.

"You're not Chespin Harimaron, not anymore. You're Tepig Pokabu, the one who bravely competes for his friends!" He speaks in a childish tone much like the fire type. "We may not evolve here either, but...but..." He stops, making the pig smirk.

It doesn't stop him however.

"...our friendship did. Pikachu would've thought the same. The Princess would've too." His voice grows hoarse, but his shouts grow louder.

"The game continues, Tepig! You don't need to restart!"

A silent pause comes between them.

The piglet only guffaws a hearty pig's laugh in the end.

"You really think this is a game?" He silently laughs, closing his eyes to shut his vision completely, uncaring if it could've been the last.

He frowns a true frown.

_"Sorry."_

And all Oshawott Mijumaru remembers is a strong blast of flames, and the bitter and tragic memory of being unable to save a Tepig Pokabu, before everything fades to black.


End file.
